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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26204140">Unravelled</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sex Education (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Clumsy Otis, F/M, I'm just as clueless and have no idea where this is going, Post-Season/Series 02, picks up monday morning, right after s2 ending</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:48:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,755</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26204140</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A worried Otis is drowning in self-doubt as he starts a new week of school, and inevitably runs into Maeve. Unfortunately for him, his overthinking combined with Maeve's impatient, careless facade snowball into even more confusion.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Otis Milburn/Maeve Wiley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi, I guess? I don't know how to introduce my first work ever other than by saying that you should prepare yourself for the worst, or you could be disappointed lol.</p><p>No, but in all honesty this isn't as huge a deal as it seems. I've had this a draft sitting in my notes for a while now and I just though it could be a good idea to share it, who knows. No one else but me would ever have seen it otherwise (which might have been best). Anyway, if it's possible, I hope you'll enjoy it.</p><p>Edit: changed the title (Monday was a little too easy lol)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The red digits on his alarm clock read 7:00 as it (predictably) went off. Just as mechanically, Otis' arm limply propelled itself onto it, effectively slapping the snooze button to end the shrill ringing.</p><p>His face was still numb, and his mouth was so dry, for a moment he thought his saliva had turned into chalk. On top of that, his eyes seemed unresponsive to his multiple attempts at opening them -- and the sunlight certainly didn't help.</p><p>After an exaggerated yawn and dramatic amount of stretching, he recovered all of his senses. It took a few seconds for him to sit up, another minute to stand, and around eight more to rumble down the stairs fully dressed and alert.</p><p>Under 10 hours earlier, Otis was already lying in bed to recover from the exhaustion the day had caused him. Also, it was a Sunday, and he'd decided that getting at least 8 hours of sleep was the minimum requirement to function properly the next day. He couldn't think much more logically than that, his mind being overwhelmed with the confusing tangle of emotions that evening had unleashed. That day, he'd finally grasped just how important emotional awareness was. Truth is, he never really tried to understand, despite having therapised so many people before. Maybe if he'd therapised himself, he would have figured it out earlier.</p><p>When he finally became aware of his now-undeniable mistakes, he thought of this visual representation of his feelings to help: they were like his middle desk drawer. Let him explain. In there, he put all of his cables and chargers, even broken headphones. And so a ball of knots the size of a football had formed, sitting there, underneath his desk, but the drawer concealed them. For a while it seemed they never existed. Until that day, when, metaphorically speaking, the drawer was wrenched out of its slot, emptying itself completely. In restrospect, he should've seen it coming. The drawer felt much heavier than it should, and he knew one day, it would have to be opened anyway. Point is, Otis was left contemplating this tangled, unkempt mass which was now in plain sight.</p><p>That analogy brought him to another conclusion. Without admitting the existence of the "drawer" and feelings it concealed, he acted like a blind egotistical prick. It took him a while to admit that, because it reminded him of his poor excuse of a father, but his mum had put the thought in his mind once before. She'd been stunned by the similarity of their faces telling her a lie. Those words had sunk into him like a sack of rocks sunk in water. Also like a rock, he'd found the idea of him making the same mistakes his own father made, well, hard to digest. He'd acted in complete disregard of other people's emotions, and consistently overlooked how lucky he was to have so many reliable people around him.</p><p>But it was Monday morning now, and if he wanted to have some time to think or chat before class started, Otis needed to leave in ten minutes. He rinsed his dirty bowl in the sink, the one he uses to eat the same cereal every day. In fact, the time for him to eat, to brush his teeth, even the couple minutes for him to extract himself from bed before that -- every aspect of this Monday morning seemed to be in complete accordance with his common ritual. From Otis' perspective, however, things were far more complicated. He felt like his head was overflowing with doubt, filled with a chaos of unanswered questions. That morning, after his latest epiphany, felt like mental torture. Was last night's voicemail a mistake? She must've thought -- What did she think of it? Why hadn't she responded yet? Maybe she deleted it without listening. Out of anger. Maybe she couldn't forgive him. Was it too late, no matter what he did?</p><p>Otis climbed onto his bicycle after brushing his teeth for the recommended two minutes, barely hiding his dejection. Not the medical term -- he was feeling dejected, he didn't defecate in his pants or anything. Although he wouldn't be surprised if his day took that sort of turn. With that, and a practiced thrust of his right foot onto the pedal, he was off. Apparently, he would be on his own this morning -- Eric woke up late, and would be getting a ride from his parents. The odds for him to make it through this day with ease, let alone to start it that way, were decidedly very low.</p><p>What Otis wasn't admitting to himself was that, aside from the fear of missing class, the main reason he was still on his way to school had to do with hope. Lodged somewhere in his chest, tight with distress, was a warm feeling of hope. Hope that Maeve had listened to his voicemail, and that she still felt the way she said she did, before he messed it up again.</p><p>Having reached the school's parking area, the brakes on his bicycle screeched it to a halt. He absentmindedly pushed it toward the first empty spot he saw. He hadn't even removed his helmet when he decided to approach the school entrance, and, considering the state he was in, predictably caught his foot on the first step. His entire body was propelled to the ground like a fried pigeon falling from the sky. Thankfully, his reflexes kicked in just in time to catch himself with his hands, flailing them out of his pockets at the last moment. Eric would have burst out in an endless amount of increasingly breathless laughter, had he been there to see Otis' fall. He winced as small rocks had dug into his palms, when a familiar voice startled him.</p><p>"'Should've watched your step, dickhead."</p><p>If he hadn't been so surprised to hear Maeve, he might've noticed the slight tremble in her otherwise emotionless tone. Concern, was it? She was close, judging from the volume. Looking up at the grass lawn that stretched out in front of the school, he scrutinised it to try and find her. He only realised he wasn't looking in the right direction when he heard the distinctive cracking sound of paper behind him. The sound of a page being turned against the wind.</p><p>For a moment, he stayed frozen exactly as he was the second his eyes laid on her, sitting between two rectangular bushes. He couldn't help but smile and let out a small huff of air, either out of embarrassment or surprise. In that corner, sitting with her legs crossed, her back leaning forward as she continued reading, she almost seemed -- little, an adjective he'd never thought to use to describe her a few months ago. His feelings once again taking over, Otis was now day-dreaming about Maeve, all the while standing right in front of her. The problem being that, within a dozen seconds of his blank stares, accompanied by a sheepish smile on his face, Maeve had noticed.</p><p>"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She threw at him, thumbs pinching her book's pages in place, intrigued by his weird behaviour.</p><p>Otis practically jumped at the question, as he kicked himself to respond in time. "Uhh, nothing, sorry. What -- what are you, um, reading?" He struggled with the words of his mundane question like he'd never used them before, throwing his scratched hands into the very bottom of his pockets.</p><p>Maeve squinted at him, deciding something was definitely wrong with him, but also subsequently thinking she didn't have the patience for small talk. Instead, she rolled her eyes, closing the book just long enough for a speed-reader to decipher its cover.</p><p>"Oh, cool.", he pretended to have read it in time, but soon recognised that as a terrible idea. "I didn't actually -- see, but --", he stammered, a nervous smile sealing his lips mid-sentence.</p><p>Maeve shot a glance at his face, feeling the contagiousness of his stupid smirk creep up her usual frown. She felt a rush of panick as she sensed her insides tense at that feeling, too, and rose to her feet. Choosing to ignore his efforts at reigniting their doomed conversation, she heaved a frustrated sigh: "Are we finished here? I don't see this conversation going anywhere."</p><p>Without giving him a chance to answer, Maeve started to walk away, mentally noting the number 153 to avoid creasing the pages of the school's new edition of Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri. Only a few seconds into their exchange, and she was already fed up with what felt like an attempt at going back to normal, essentially forgetting all that he'd done and said. Easier to just pretend not to care and move on, like she always tried to do. She also tried not to think about how that could backfire.</p><p>Otis' mind went blank, failing to understand why the conversation would end so abruptly. They needed to talk. He needed them to talk, otherwise his chest would implode. "Wait, Maeve --", he tried, but was interrupted by the bell. The flock of students that followed it rendered any attempt to go after her completely useless. He felt worse than he'd anticipated.</p><p>•••</p><p>An hour into his classes, he felt his sleep deprivation kick in. Added to his melancholy, Otis felt lost. What was so wrong about his message that had left Maeve with that same look of disappointment? Apparently, she wasn't too eager to answer that for him.</p><p>When break time arrived, Eric was practically bouncing onto him with excitement, skipping the formalities of a usual greeting to talk about the obvious.</p><p>"Heyy, guess what happened last night!" He teased, barely holding back the answer to his own question.</p><p>Otis felt himself muster a smile, eyes still fixed on the floor as they walked in the school corridors. "Let me guess, something to do with Adam?"</p><p>"I smuggled him inside my room, through my window!" Eric fake-screamed with dramatic delight.</p><p>"Isn't that a bit dangerous?" Otis asked gingerly.</p><p>"What's wrong with you? Did you hit your head or somethin'? I spent the night with him." He translated, emphasising every word like he would to a stubborn toddler.</p><p>Otis let out a single chuckle, so obviously fake Eric had to intervene. He stopped in his tracks, forcing Otis to do the same by blocking him with his left arm. Otis turned to face him curiously.</p><p>"What's wrong?" Eric frowned, concerned for his friend.</p><p>Otis breathed loudly, struggling to put his feelings into words. "I left a voicemail for Maeve the other night." He was able to say, and Eric nodded, encouraging him to elaborate. "In that voicemail, I apologised for my stupid mistakes, and, well -- I told her I loved her."</p><p>"Otis, this is great news! Why are you pulling the kicked puppy face then?" Eric was trying his best to reassure his friend with some of his own cheerfulness, to no avail.</p><p>"Because, Eric, she doesn't seem to care!" He exclaimed in desperation. "This morning before class, she completely ignored me -- she walked away when I tried to talk -- and now I feel like an idiot."</p><p>"Oh, come on! I'm sure there's an explanation for that." Eric insisted, trying to think of a viable one to help. "Do you even know if she got your message? Did you dial 'Mum' instead of 'Maeve'? You never know." He gazed at him expectantly.</p><p>Otis stopped to reflect on Eric's suggestion. "No, I did dial the right number, I saw it in my call history. But, I guess you could be right about the other thing."</p><p>"See, man? You should confront her!" Eric punctuated the last words of his advice with an encouraging slap on the shoulder.</p><p>Giving in to his optimism, Otis smiled in gratitude and newfound hope.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A slight jump in time to Otis and Maeve's confrontation.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Otis shuffled his feet now that he felt dangerously close to Maeve. His frantic heartbeats slowed for a moment before accelerating again in apprehension. Otis thought she was the most captivating person he'd ever met. Her rare displays of happiness were something to cherish. The mind-numbing sharpness and wit of her words, too. How she let the bloodsucking self-doubt inside her eat away at her ambition, he didn't know. So much he had yet to discover and love all over again -- maybe that was what made her so mesmerising. </p><p>Maeve had distanced herself from the animated crowd smoking on the roof, leaning against the parapet. Her eyes were fixed on the other students, watching without a care in the world -- her mind was elsewhere. If only things had gone differently. If only <em>she</em> was different. Perhaps if she lived a more "normal" life, they would be together by now. She would be content. Happy, even. That was such a foreign thing to her. But in that other life, she would have known what it felt like. A happy life -- what a joke that was. <em>Idiot</em>.</p><p>Swallowing part of his fear, Otis stepped forward again. He was closer now, as she turned around at the sound of his shoes against the pavement. Her expression lacked any possible hint of surprise. She'd expected it to be difficult, ignoring him. Evidently, he was determined to get a real conversation out of her. Pressing the cigarette butt between her fingers, she crushed it against the filthy concrete wall. </p><p><br/>"Hey, Maeve."</p><p><br/>"Hi. What do you want?" Her question wasn't provocative, there was none of the usual disdain in it. She was genuinely asking.</p><p><br/>"Just, to talk?" The fragile tone in his voice was practically pleading her to give him a chance. She looked up at him defiantly. "Look, I know I messed up. Multiple times. I'm sorry, I wish I could take everything back." He avoided her gaze, overwhelmed by the feeling of her dubitative eyes boring into his. "I -- I don't know. Did you even get my message?"</p><p><br/>Maeve flinched at the question. He was halfway there, to an attempt at fixing things.</p><p><br/>"What? <em>This</em> is what you want to talk about? A fucking text?" She spat, eyeing him like prey despite obviously being hurt. She stepped towards him, her arms securely folded against her torso. Pained by her own anger and hurt, Otis responded hurriedly.</p><p><br/>"No, I sent you a voicemail!" She squinted in suspicion. "I was watching you on TV and I called you, and left you a voicemail. I even came to see you after the play, but you weren't home so I left."</p><p>She took a moment to think.</p><p>"Why? I mean, why did you come to see me?" Maeve asked, softly this time.</p><p>"I was really proud of you, for the Quiz Heads. You know, seeing you on telly like that. So, I told you. Or at least it felt like I did." He paused, feeling his heart swell at the sight of her. She searched his face for what he was thinking, looking at her like she was some kind of a miraculous oasis in the desert -- minus the hallucinogenic thirst.</p><p>"I love you, Maeve. That's also something I said in it." The heat prickling his face rose up to the tip of his ears. Maeve was stunned. </p><p>She released her grip on both her arms, her tense posture dissolved in a puddle of warmth. Looking down at her feet, she pulled her lips together to suppress a flustered smile. "I got butterflies from that," she muttered, between two strands of hair.</p><p><br/>"Me, too." He murmured back. "I got used to them a while back, actually. Some might even call me an expert." He said in a more playful tone, jokingly holding his head high. They both grinned in amusement.</p><p><br/>"A butterfly expert?", she teased.</p><p>"Something like that", he nodded with a hum, instinctively moving towards her. </p><p>"Except that they aren't really butterflies." She countered mockingly.</p><p>"You're incorrigible, you know that?"</p><p>"Shut up." Maeve made a flimsy attempt at concealing her smirk.</p><p>She timidly reached for his hand, brushing her fingers along its side. He watched her movements attentively before stealing a glance at her lips, only to find her looking back at him. Otis found in her eyes the same entrancing look she gave him that awkward night on the bridge. She remembered Otis' sudden expression of distress, surprised to find it replaced with one of lustful hesitation. Both were afraid of letting their enchanting moment fade to bittersweet regret. And so they didn't -- they kissed, and hugged. They held onto eachother for as long as the school bell let them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wrapped it up as best I could :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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